


A String of Thought

by falindis



Series: Soulbound [1]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Melkor, Breathplay, Dildos, Dirty Talk, Fantasizing, Force Skype: The Ainur Edition, Lonely Mairon, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Masturbation, Melkor in Mandos, Multiple Orgasms, Nipple Play, Overstimulation, Part 1 is Mairon's POV, Part 2 Melkor's, Phone sex (of sorts), Rimming, Shameless Smut, Telepathy, ainur spirit sex??, angbang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:08:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25095865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/falindis/pseuds/falindis
Summary: The only things that kept Melkor sane during his Three Ages in Mandos were thoughts of revenge... and Mairon. After discovering that he shares a telepathic connection with his lieutenant, his captivity takes a rather exciting turn. The lieutenant is pleasantly surprised.
Relationships: Morgoth Bauglir | Melkor/Sauron | Mairon
Series: Soulbound [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1898458
Comments: 28
Kudos: 107





	1. The First Visit

Mairon was miserable.

He had felt nothing but misery for a long time. After the fall of Utumno and the chaining of Melkor he had gathered the remaining forces and fled to Angband. There he, a servile being by nature, had suddenly been forced to take control. A horde of desperate servants clung to him like flies, buzzing endlessly at his ears. It was rare that he got any time to himself at all. And when he did, those moments were consumed by thoughts of Melkor.

Their failure still stung bitter on his tongue. Melkor had told Mairon not to worry – that he would be return eventually, that the Valar could not keep him forever. Yet that was little consolation. How long would it be that Melkor was gone? A hundred years or a thousand? Did his master simply expect him to patiently wait all that time?

The truth was that he was not cut out for this. All he wanted was to hear Melkor’s voice again, to see his face and to feel his touch. For someone to guide him. To teach him.

To love him.

Yes, to love. Although he had never said those words to Melkor. He had not even admitted it to himself. He was not a creature of sentiment. Yet these lonely nights took their toll – made him more emotional than usual. He often dreamed of his master; their nights spent together. In the morning he would wake up hard and aching, forcing to pleasure himself, alone. He thought of taking another lover but decided against it. He could not betray his master like that.

So, he was reduced to pining, writhing uselessly in his bed, calling out to his master’s name in the dark.

Mairon could not remember how long it had been when he first heard the voice of another.

It called out to him in the night, caressed his skin like a touch. It awoke him, causing him to startle and sit up in his bed. A chill ran down his spine, and he lifted his hand to conjure a tiny spark of fire to light up the dark space.

“Who is there?”

There was no response. A simple itch under his skin, as if someone was scraping the insides of his head. There was a buzz in his ears. Mairon perked his hearing to listen, focused his _fëa._

That is when he heard it.

“Mairon…”

Mairon gasped. Although he must have been imagining it, he was sure that he knew that voice. He would have known it anywhere.

“Master?”

“Mairon…”

“Yes”, Mairon breathed, allowing his spark to subdue. “Master! Yes, that is you. How? Is this a dream?”

The chuckle of the voice reverberated through Mairon’s skull. “I have been trying to reach you for quite some time. It appears I succeeded.”

Mairon felt tears well up in his eyes. It had been such a long time since he last heard his master’s voice. And although this would have been just a dream, Mairon did not care. All that mattered was that he heard it. “I have missed you so much, master. There is so much that I have wanted to tell you…”

“I am sure, Mairon”, Melkor murmured. The sound of his voice made a low rumble run along Mairon’s spine. “How have you fared?”

“I have upheld your glory, master”, Mairon replied reverently. Now that he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine Melkor being in front of him, sitting magnificently atop his throne. His lieutenant kneeling at his feet. “I have gathered your remaining servants and brought them to Angband. Our numbers grow. We eagerly await your return.”

Melkor hummed in appreciation. “You have done well, my lieutenant.”

Mairon bowed his head. Just those simple words of praise made his skin prickle. And that was not the only part of him. He was aroused now, a hotness tugging at his groin.

“If I may ask, master, the same from you? How is your time in Mandos?”

“Dreadful”, Melkor replied. “I do not wish to speak of it now. All that matters is that I can hear your voice, Mairon. I have missed you too.”

A warmth spread in Mairon’s stomach. Oh that he wished that he could embrace his master now, to hold him and to kiss him. Alas, no, he was reduced to this simple telepathic connection – yet it was better than anything he had experienced in a long, long time.

“You have?” Mairon asked. “Could you… elaborate on that?”

“Your wit, for instance”, Melkor replied. “But not only that. Your loyalty, your perseverance. I could not have asked for a better servant.”

Mairon almost moaned in pleasure. He did not want to beg yet, but he needed to hear more. And as if Melkor had sensed his will, he continued his tide of praise.

“I have missed the touch of your skin on my skin… Your lips on my lips. Your clever hands, lieutenant. The way you pledge yourself to me.”

Mairon groaned. Yet Melkor continued.

“The tilt of your hips. The warm crevice between your legs… the way I would bury myself into you.”

“Yes…” Mairon was hard now, moving his hand towards to his groin to help ease the pressure. “Tell me, master. Tell me how you would take me.”

Melkor chuckled; a dark, low tone that made the hairs on Mairon’s body stand upright. “I would catch you mid-work, my little one, by the heat of your forge. I would admire you from the darkness, how shadows curve along the ridges of your skin.”

“Poetic”, Mairon murmured in delight. “And would I still be wearing my clothes, my lord?”

“Only parts of them. Just your apron, so that I can admire your perfectly round behind, the width of your thighs.”

“Work safety above all, I see.”

“I would walk behind you, slowly, so you could hear the weight of my steps and feel the surge of my power. It would prickle along your skin, flow in your veins like lightning. You would feel my breath hot upon your neck. Your back would arch in anticipation.”

Mairon’s breath caught at the image. He rubbed himself against the covers now, frustrated at the lack of friction. He needed to get rid of these robes.

Melkor continued. “Cold my fingers would feel on your skin as they dragged along your spine, trailing downwards to reach your buttocks. One of my hands would grab your cheeks, the other wander beneath your apron.” There was a pause. “Are you touching yourself, lieutenant?”

Mairon finished fumbling with his nightgown, dragged it over his head and pressed his back down on the bed. His hand wrapped around his member, drawing a breath from his throat. “I am now.”

“Very good”, Melkor crooned. “I want you to replicate everything I tell you to do. You cannot stop touching yourself, not until I tell you so. And you must stop the very moment that I tell you to do so. Do you understand?”

Melkor’s words scraped the insides of Mairon’s skull like a knife. They were an order, and Melkor did not tolerate insubordination. And although they were not physically in the same space, Mairon had no doubt that his master could not punish him. “I understand.”

“Good. Now, my spark, my other hand would move beneath your apron, to ghost along your belly. Not touching, simply hovering. I would trail the ridges of your stomach, each and every bump and crevice, until my fingers would make their way up to your chest. Here my other hand would join in.”

Mairon replicated the motions with utter perfection. “And then?”

“One by one, I would pinch my fingers around your nipples. Lightly, at first, a simple pinch, then release. Pinch and release. But slowly my pace would quicken. I would add a tug, perhaps even a twist, a flick. I would replicate those motions until you would sweat and quiver in my hands. Pinch, release. Tug, twist, and flick. Just like that, little one. Faster, now.”

Mairon’s breath came in small pants. Each touch sent a flicker of sparks on his skin. All of the motions went straight into his groin, and his leaking member jerked in rhythm with the motions. Still Melkor did not tell him to stop.

“Once I had my fill with my fingers, I would remove your apron and replicate the motions with my tongue”, Melkor instructed. Mairon wet his fingers and moved them back to his nipples. “Flicking, licking and kissing. A bite here and there. And then I would begin to suckle. I would suckle on your nipples ‘til they were raw.”

Mairon found the motion more difficult to replicate, but he did so nevertheless. His nipples were aching with the touch now, oversensitive, and he began to wonder whether he could come from just this: just the sound of his master’s voice and his own fingers on his skin.

“I would suck your nipples like I would your cock”, Melkor continued. “The sounds I would make would be filthy, wet, just like you are for me now. And so would yours. You would burn at the heat of my mouth. I would make you bow before me. I would make you _beg.”_

And just with those words the heat in Mairon’s stomach expanded and he came, cock untouched, spilling his white seed on the darkness of the coverlets.

Melkor hummed: a sound of pleasure that turned into a question. “Did I ask you to stop touching yourself?”

Mairon lay on the bed, panting, still not fully down from his high. While still catching his breath he took his fingers back to his nipples, the touch almost painful now. “No, master.”

“Exactly. I would not be done with you yet, no, not by long. I would suckle still a while longer, until the pleasure turned to pain. And not even then I would stop yet. I would bite you then, hard, dig red crescents along your chest. I would mark you as my own.”

Mairon cried out as he used his long fingernails to puncture the skin open, until tiny drops of blood leaked out. The wound burned at the touch of air, pulling a hiss beneath Mairon’s teeth.

“I would kiss you then”, Melkor said, and Mairon took his bloodied hands to his lips, tasting the coppery tinge of blood. “My tongue would explore your mouth, slowly, first curving along the ridges of your teeth, your lips, then digging deep into your throat.”

Mairon began suckling on his fingers, moving his tongue against their curve. For a moment more he continued, hollowing out his cheeks as if he was sucking Melkor’s cock. As he did so his arousal began to return, until he was rock hard once again.

“I would lower you on the table, and my kisses would draw a trail down your throat”, Melkor’s whisper caressed Mairon’s ear. Bloody fingers drew a line on pale skin. “Moving downwards above your chest and stomach, until I reached the curve of your hips.”

Mairon followed. His fingers were tantalizingly close to his arousal right now, and it took every ounce of his willpower not to take them further.

“As a reward for your patience, I would grace you with the touch of my hands. But not entirely, simply a brush. You would feel my fingers on your sex like a breath. I would start off with your stones, lightly caressing, as if inspecting a pair of precious jewels. I would weigh them in my hands, slowly rubbing, squeezing.”

Mairon drew a ragged breath. “Yes. More.”

Melkor hummed. “Was that an order?”

“No”, Mairon replied hastily. “No, my lord. It was a simple request, a plea. I… I need you to touch me. I can’t take it anymore…”

“You will have to do better than that.”

Mairon quivered under the tone, still massaging his stones with one hand. “I _beg_ you, my liege, my master, my god. My body has gone untouched for so long. I must have your hands on mine, _in me,_ or else I’ll—”

“Untouched? Has it, truly? You have not… taken pleasure in others in my absence?”

Mairon was appalled by the question. “No! I could never! Only your hallowed touch is allowed on my skin, o’ Darkest One. I have kept myself pure for you.”

“Very well, then”, a low murmur echoed through Mairon’s skull. “You have proved your worth. You may touch yourself properly now.”

Mairon almost gasped in relief as he finally took his hand to his length, beginning to pleasure himself in long, languid strokes. “Command me, master.”

“I would stroke you slowly, up and down, squeezing ever-so-lightly, occasionally running my fingers along a vein or your tip. My other hand would still massage your sack, rubbing, but occasionally my touch would wander, perhaps visit a nipple or two, giving them a squeeze and a flick to enhance your pleasure. You would moan in tune with my strokes, just like you are doing now, desperate, a filthy whore begging for my cock. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yes… yes! I am your slave, your plaything, your cocksheath. My body exists to fulfill your pleasure.”

“Ah, my servant, the sounds you make are exquisite. The way your body responds to me…” Melkor drew a deep, sensuous breath. “The way your hips would angle to meet my strokes to get the friction you need. The way your cock would pulse as I squeezed it tighter, how your stones would shiver at my touch. The arc of your back at the peak of your pleasure, how your lips would part as they called my name…”

“…Melkor!”

Mairon came again. This orgasm was even more intense than the previous one, causing his entire body to shake as he released his seed in a powerful, gushing jet. Melkor responded with a low grunt, and as Mairon came down from the heat of his orgasm, he wondered whether his master was pleasuring himself as well, picturing his lieutenant behind closed eyelids.

And still Mairon continued. Melkor did not order him to stop, so Mairon kept stroking himself even past his orgasm, his fingers now numb and sticky with cum. He whined at the overstimulation, the pleasure that slowly faded into pain.

“Faster”, Melkor commanded. “Keep going.”

Mairon gasped as he felt himself growing hard again. Silently, he cursed his traitorous body for this need, this painful urge. No matter what he did, he always wanted _more._ He needed something inside him. This very second.

“Next I would spread your legs open wide”, Melkor said. “Taking a moment to admire the sight – oh how lewd you would look right there, splayed against your workbench, the fire of the forge catching in your hair, a stray strand glued onto your parted lips. Droplets of sweat and come shining on your skin like morning dew, your cock leaking and swollen red, your puckered hole twitching and waiting to be used.”

Mairon lost himself in the imagery, closing his eyes further and tilting his hips towards the ceiling.

“I would take you next”, Melkor noted. “Are you ready, precious?”

“Mmh”, Mairon replied. He was momentarily dragged from his fantasy as his hand fumbled blindly at the nightstand drawer. He felt his hand touch something cool, and he pulled the object from the drawer. But when he examined it more carefully, he realized it was not a bottle of oil at all – but a heavier glass object, shaped impeccably to his master’s measurements.

Mairon raised his brows in surprise. He had almost forgotten about the thing – he had not used it since he was together with his master – sometimes Mairon enjoyed being penetrated with two objects in the same time.

_It was perfect._

“What is it, little one?”

“Nothing”, Mairon replied slyly. He set the glass replica on the bed and fumbled for the drawer some more, until he found the oil he was looking for. The vial opened with a pop, and he lathered the replica generously. “I am ready. Take me.”

Mairon almost _heard_ Melkor’s eyebrows cock. “Are you sure you need no preparation?”

“Sure”, Mairon grunted impatiently. Oh Eru, he had not been this hard in his entire life. “Fuck, just put it in already.”

“Greedy, greedy lieutenant.” Melkor’s tone sent chills down Mairon’s spine. “Is this what you want? For me to enter you. To sheath my cock inside you.”

“Yes”, Mairon gasped as he lowered himself upon the glass object, feeling its cold tip breach his tight entrance.

“I would bury myself deep inside you”, Melkor continued. Inch by inch Mairon took the replica in further, until he was fully seated on it. His master was truly of impressive stature – the burn of it was exquisite, painful, even, and Mairon drew a shaky breath through his nose. “I would pound you towards the table until your backside ached, bruising your skin with my touch. While I fucked you, I would allow you to touch yourself, to stroke your length in tune with my thrusts.”

Mairon obeyed. His strokes were choppy, almost violent, as he rode the glass replica like he would his master’s cock. As he did so he felt the glass tip scratch at _that_ point inside him, and white stars danced across his vision. Wordless moans escaped his throat now – he was way past the point of coherent speech.

“Ah”, Melkor sighed. “You feel so good. The way your walls clench around me like a vice… just the thought of your body makes me quiver. Soon, my faithful servant, very soon I will return. I will take you hard and fast, then, oh, I will make you _scream.”_

Mairon felt the telltale heat grow in his groin as he pumped the glass replica faster. He saw white. “I’m close…”

“Yes, my precious”, Melkor whispered in his ear.” You are beautiful like this, under me. Pliant, yet so fiercely powerful. _I would burn down the world for you.”_

Those words were enough to make Mairon come undone, and he came for the third time. It lasted so long that he thought that he would never stop coming, the walls of his rectum clenching and his cock pulsating as he splattered the covers with arcs and arcs of hot Maia seed.

Mairon grunted until no sound any longer came from his throat and collapsed on the bed, heart racing. He could hear his blood in his ears, combined with the satisfied murmur of Melkor’s voice.

“You may stop touching yourself now”, Melkor said.

Mairon did as he was told. His hands were shaking as he laid them back down on the bed. But so was his entire body. He had not felt so awake for a long time. Or so alive.

“Are you still there?” Melkor asked softly.

“Yes. That was… intense. It was as if…” Mairon paused to think about the feeling. The waves of satisfaction that had rushed through Mairon’s body were so powerful, unlike anything he had ever felt before – as if he did not feel them only in his _fána_ but also his _fëa._

“I know”, Melkor said. “I felt it too.”

Mairon felt his pace quicken momentarily. A thought occurred – perhaps the bond of their _fëar_ was indeed stronger than he had thought. He wondered whether it would be possible to replicate the contact in the opposite direction, to permeate the walls of Mandos with a thought. And perhaps even more than a thought. What if they could see each other? Touch?

“What does this mean?” Mairon asked.

“I do not know, yet”, Melkor replied. “I am not even sure whether I can do this again. This has been… very draining.”

Mairon’s brows knitted in concern, but he let it subdue. His master would find a way. He always did.

“All that matters is that you succeeded”, he said. “And that I could hear your voice again.”

“I share your sentiment, Mairon.”

Mairon smiled in the darkness, lying still for a moment. Having Melkor’s voice in his ear was almost like being together again.

Almost.

But soon he grew bored, and painfully aware of the rumpled sheets beneath him, the stickiness of sweat and seed on his skin.

He needed a wash.

“Would you care to accompany me to the baths, master?”

Melkor declined. “I fear my powers have been exhausted. I need rest.”

“I understand”, Mairon answered, veiling his disappointment. “You will simply have to do with the mental imagery, then.”

Melkor seemed pleased by the riposte. “I will hold to that thought, Mairon.”

That is when their connection cut off. Mairon tried to prod for it again, but it was as if an invisible string had been cut. Momentarily he was filled with a hollow, cold emptiness, but that feeling soon melted away from the way of certainty.

Mairon was sure of it. This would not be their only time.


	2. The Second Visit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _”Begging is not in my nature.”  
>  “I can teach you”, Mairon offered, his ghostly fingers caressing Melkor’s chin. “I can make you beg.”_
> 
> Melkor loathes the Halls of Mandos. During a lonely day he gets an unexpected visit from Mairon, who has new tricks up his sleeve. The Vala learns a lesson in humility.

Melkor hated the halls of Mandos.

He hated his cell, his bed, the walls. It was too white, too bright, too _pure._ The simple room had been furnished in an _eldar_ fashion, with a large and rather comfortable bed, and the walls were decorated with sleek, white pillars and arched windows, facing an elaborate garden. It by no means looked like a cell.

But Melkor knew the truth. This was all part of Namo’s cruel ruse – giving Melkor the false hope that he could escape. He had tried, of course, concentrating all of his will into the hinges of the door, a crack on the wall, the glass on his window. Yet it was no use: even with all his power he could not break the enchantments that held him to his cell. And even if he managed to break the spell, he could not necessarily find his way out. The halls of Mandos never stayed the same, the rooms constantly shifting and changing place, moving from one spot to another. It was as if they existed in a parallel reality of their own.

In time Melkor gave up trying to break the chains. Instead he focused on other things.

Revenge was his first thought. One by one he destroyed the Valar in his mind, conjuring the vilest ways to torment his captors, to make them feel even a fraction of the hurt he did. But soon he grew tired and angry of his fantasies, knowing that it would be long before he could execute them. Thus, he focused on the one thing that always soothed his mind.

Mairon.

At first Mairon was simply a servant – one of the many Maiar he had corrupted and twisted to his service. But in time Melkor came to realize that he was somehow _different._ His devotion was endless, and Melkor gladly took advantage of his generous nature. Mairon was the voice of reason when Melkor had none, and possessed a seemingly infinite patience that Melkor could only dream of. It was something that he would never willingly admit, of course, but without Mairon many of his plans would have never had come to fruition.

He had grown to… _care_ for the Maia, to _feel_ in a way he had not known that he could. Although losing Utumno and to the Valar had been difficult, the most difficult thing had been parting with his lieutenant.

Alike with all of Melkor’s servants, he and Mairon shared a mental collection, which stemmed from the power Melkor had redistributed onto his creations. In the beginning it had been only fragile, but the more Mairon came closer to him, the more they shared their thoughts – and thus their power. In a way it was as if Mairon was somehow an external _part_ of him, living a life of its own. Thus, akin to commanding a part of his body to move, he reached out to Mairon.

It was difficult, at first, like moving a long-forgotten muscle or trying to feel a long-lost limb. Nevertheless, he tried. Strand by strand he extended his thoughts, recalling every little detail of his lieutenant’s being, from the sound of his voice to the curve of his face. The light in his eyes and the sheen of his fiery hair, the feel of his small body under Melkor’s sturdy frame…

So he reached out.

He reached out, and Mairon answered.

But only once. After managing to forge a connection Melkor could never replicate it, no matter how hard he tried. Frustrated, he cursed Mandos to the Void. The Doomsman must have found out about their connection, it was the only explanation. Or perhaps it had been a game from the start, and the connection was the Doomsman’s making, to torture Melkor by offering him the thing that he wanted the most and then ripping it away.

“How much more will you punish me?” Melkor cried, falling to his knees on the floor. “Have I not suffered enough?”

Suddenly Melkor became aware of something. A presence, the weight of a gaze. Quickly he rose from his undignified pose, resuming his usual lordly manner.

“Who is there?” he called out. “Show yourself!”

But instead of seeing he heard a voice. _“Melkor.”_

Melkor let out a sigh. “Mairon.” Then the realization hit him. “Mairon? How are you here? I… did not summon you.”

Mairon paused. With a careful tone he continued: “I am sorry, master, I did not mean to intrude. I can leave, if you like.”

Melkor shook his head. “No, no. Stay.” He closed his eyes to distract himself from reality, to pretend for a moment that he truly was by his lieutenant’s side. “How is this possible?”

“Because of you”, Mairon replied. “With your thoughts you created an… opening. A crack in the walls, you could call it. It was simply a matter of widening that crack to pass through it.”

Melkor hummed. So the Doomsman had nothing to do in it after all.

Yet he was confused. How was _Mairon_ able to do this? Melkor remembered how draining the connection had been the last time – it had taken him several weeks to regain his strength. Perhaps his lieutenant had more strength in him than Melkor had thought.

“Whatever the case is, I am glad that you succeeded”, Melkor said. “Are there any new tidings from Angband?”

“Nothing that you should worry about”, Mairon replied. “All is taken care of. If I am being truthful, I did not contact you to bring you news. I simply wished to hear your voice.”

Melkor could not help but feel a surge of affection at the words. He was glad to hear Mairon, too. Anything was better than the bleakness of the halls of Mandos, and to reunite with his lieutenant, even if in voice only, was a victory in his current state.

“I wish I could be there with you”, Melkor admitted. “I cannot stand a day more of these halls. This place drives me insane.”

“You may not be here with me, but I might be there with you.”

Melkor was about to open his mouth in question, when he suddenly felt a jolt of warmth on his skin. It made him jump and open his eyes, awakening to the dull reality of the white walls around him.

“Do not be afraid”, Mairon said. “It is just me.”

“I am not afraid”, Melkor protested. “It is not you that made me… lose concentration. I swear I felt something.”

The warmth crept upon his skin again. If he thought he had imagined last time, this was undeniably real. The heated touch warmed his forearm, making the skin tingle with dozens of tiny sparks. Slowly the warmth moved up his forearm to his shoulder, then down his neck to the crook of his back. It almost felt like a caress – a familiar one.

“Mairon?” Melkor asked. “Are… you doing this?”

“Do you like it?” Mairon replied, barely concealing his excitement. “It is a spell that I have been practicing for a while. I mostly use it for… less pleasurable purposes, but I figured that it might prove of other use as well.”

The intensity of the warmth grew, and what had started off as a warm whisper now felt like a heated touch. It was as if two hands were grasping Melkor’s back, rolling down to his buttocks and squeezing lightly. In normal circumstances he would have scolded Mairon on his boldness, but he had gone far too long without a touch to complain now. He tilted his head upwards and groaned with pleasure, leaning into the touch.

“You are beautiful like this”, Mairon’s whisper tickled his ear. The touch lingered on the buttocks a while longer, then glided back upwards along Melkor’s spine, caressed the ribs and the planes of his waist.

“What makes you say that?” Melkor asked. “Do you… see me?”

“Not in the sense of seeing with the eyes”, Mairon replied, his ghostly touch moving to caress Melkor’s chest. The prickling warmth tingled Melkor’s nipples, making him moan. “More… feeling.”

“Mmh. Keep going.”

“Then lean back, relax, and let me do the work.”

Melkor did as he was told. He took a step back towards his bed, leaned on his back, and let himself be pleased by his lieutenant.

Now that Melkor was in his place, Mairon’s touch grew in intensity. He massaged Melkor’s nipples harder, the hot sparks almost painful now, but Melkor did not mind. In fact, he rather enjoyed it. The ghostly fingers twisted and turned the hard nubs, occasionally pushing and pulling, as if Mairon’s mouth was suckling around them. In the same time Melkor felt the heat press to his neck, a gentle nuzzle and then a hot bite. The sensation was so real that Melkor could almost imagine Mairon’s form right there in his lap, his hair and eyes golden like the tone of his skin—

Melkor blinked. No, that was not simply his imagination. Mairon truly _was_ there – at least partially. What had previously been but an auditory illusion was also now visual: Melkor could truly see a ghostly form of Mairon on his lap. This Mairon reminded him of the time that they still preferred spiritual forms over bodies: Mairon was a golden sprite, formed of thousands of dancing sparks that constantly moved to conjure a new illusion. There were no clear features except for outlines, but where Mairon’s eyes should have been the sparks were denser, coalescing into two burning crucibles.

“Mairon—”

“Hush”, Mairon whispered. “Don’t speak. Enjoy.”

Melkor opened his mouth to speak again, but his words were swallowed by Mairon’s lips. Although the illusion seemingly had no lips, the effect was astounding – each glide and flick of Mairon’s lips and tongue felt real. Melkor melted into the kiss, moving his hands to loop them around Mairon’s neck, but his hands grasped only emptiness.

“You cannot do that”, Mairon’s voice echoed in his skull. “This is all simply an illusion. I am merely replicating my touch and form to you. I can touch you, but you cannot touch me.”

Melkor grunted. He was not used to feeling so… helpless, so at Mairon’s mercy. In their usual bedplay Melkor was the one in charge, the one inflicting pain and pleasure. Now he could simply lie still as Mairon explored his mouth with his tongue and ran his ghostly fingers along Melkor’s chest, leaving his nipples to move towards his waist.

Melkor breathed a sigh into Mairon’s hot mouth. He heard Mairon chuckle in his mind, and with one final bite on his lips the Maia drew further away, beginning to lightly trail his fingers along the planes of Melkor’s stomach. It was a teasing game, the tiny flames inching further torturously slow, until they at last reached Melkor’s groin. The dark Vala angled his hips upwards in anticipation, closing his eyes.

Mairon took Melkor’s cock into his hand, and pleasure struck Melkor like a whiplash, sharp and dangerous. The lieutenant’s ethereal tongue soon joined in, running slowly along Melkor’s long length, each lick luxurious and indulgent, as if he was enjoying the rarest of treats. For a while Mairon simply licked, touching each vein and ridge until the pleasure edged into pain. Melkor grunted impatiently, clenching his fingers to press his lieutenant’s head down further onto his cock, but once again his fingers passed clean through the illusion, touching nothing but his own skin.

“So hasty”, Mairon chided. “Patience, my lord.”

Melkor groaned, a mixture of frustration and pride. It was _him_ who had taught Mairon that, of the heights of drawn-out pleasure. For a moment he considered fighting, focusing enough of his strength outward to bend Mairon’s illusion to his will, but afraid that he would break it, he decided not to.

He surrendered.

Mairon’s chuckle reverberated against Melkor’s belly as the lieutenant took one last lick along the engorged length. He gave the Vala a moment of expectant pause, and Melkor prepared himself to the hot cavity of Mairon’s mouth that would soon embrace his cock.

But that heat never came. Instead Mairon’s fingers had moved to stroke at Melkor’s lower thighs, the sensitive spot beneath them. The sensation made Melkor’s skin prickle – Mairon had never touched him down there.

It soon dawned to Melkor what Mairon was about to do, and he opened his eyes and rose with a start.

“No”, he shook his head, staring into Mairon’s glowing eyes. “I forbid you.”

Mairon simply stared back. There was no emotion in those unearthly crucibles, simply golden light. “Why?”

Melkor felt his anger rise. He did not have to explain himself to Mairon. “Because I want to.”

Mairon hummed. “You do not understand, my lord. I simply wish to bring you full pleasure. You cannot touch me in the way that you wish to. We both want the same thing, to be joined fully in flesh. And only I can make it happen.”

Still, Melkor was cautious. Although few things in the world compared to the closeness that he felt sheathed inside his lieutenant’s body, united both in _fëa_ and _fána,_ being taken by his lieutenant instead was an aversive thought. For their lovemaking was not only an act of physicality, but also an act of power and control, of dominance and submission. In that game Melkor was always the master, although Mairon would be the one pleasuring him with his hands and tongue.

Giving himself over so utterly and completely… felt daunting.

“It will feel strange at first, but you will learn to enjoy it”, Mairon coerced. “You taught me that.”

Melkor nodded again, for Mairon was correct.

“This is all a simple game”, Mairon continued. “Power play. It does not diminish your glory. Let me grant you pleasure, o’ Darkest One, let me show my devotion to you.”

Those words were enough to make Melkor’s will come undone. He let out a low growl, parting his legs willingly.

“Worship your god”, he commanded.

Mairon obeyed, bowing reverently in between Melkor’s thighs. Each touch of his lips was a warm brand on Melkor’s skin, each swipe of his tongue a line of fire. That clever tongue soon found its way between Melkor’s spread-out cheeks, teasing at the ring of skin around the puckered hole, until it finally sunk inside.

Melkor inhaled sharply. The pressure of Mairon’s impossibly long tongue inside his passage felt strange, invading, and he was not sure whether he enjoyed the sensation. Yet that notion was quickly discarded as Mairon began to move, digging deeper, swirling his tongue inside the tight flesh. The decadent slurps of Mairon’s mouth could have made the Valar themselves blush, and just listening to them made Melkor’s cock twitch in pleasure.

This was his handiwork.

“Mine”, Melkor growled in between clenched teeth, “you are mine.”

“Yes”, Mairon hissed telepathically, his tongue drawing wicked patterns as he spoke. “Master.”

Suddenly Mairon hit _something_ inside Melkor, and his whole vision went white with stars. He drew a raspy breath, his hips almost buckling at the sensation.

Mairon hummed in satisfaction. A few times more he hit that same spot, and hot pleasure would follow, until Melkor felt his balls clench at an approaching orgasm. He tilted his hips towards the touch—

and Mairon withdrew, pulling out, leaving Melkor but a panting, sweaty mess.

“Mairon”, he growled at the interruption, anger crackling on his skin like sparks of thunder. “What—”

Mairon’s hot hand slammed over Melkor’s mouth, pressing down and cutting off his breath. “Be silent.”

Melkor gasped in response, and satisfied, Mairon let go of his mouth, his focus drifting back in between Melkor’s legs, still lewdly spread out in anticipation. Melkor watched as the particles that made up Mairon’s being reassembled, condensing around his groin to form a perfect replica of his cock. Melkor stared at the glowing length in wonder, taking a moment to appreciate the likeness, and then inhaled as he felt the tip prod at his entrance.

Mairon grabbed hold of his hips and pushed in. He took his time, sliding further inch by inch, and Melkor hissed through his teeth as his body tried to accommodate the lieutenant’s hard length. The sensation was hot and cold at once, both agony and pleasure. It felt unbelievably _real,_ the unfamiliar stretch of his tight passage, the clenching of muscles against the hot intrusion. Mairon sunk in deeper, until he was buried inside Melkor to the hilt, the hot sparks that made up his abdomen brushing Melkor’s buttocks.

“Ah…” Melkor exhaled, his breath quick and hurried. “Your length inside me… feels…”

“I know.”

Mairon accompanied his words by pulling out and in again, beginning a series of low, languorous thrusts. With every thrust Melkor felt his body relax a bit further, until the unpleasantness of the initial feeling dissipated entirely. He tilted his head backwards and _moaned,_ spreading his legs wider and tilting his hips higher. The burn of the stretch was exquisite, spreading all through his spine and onto his cock. He felt warm and tight and _full,_ and he could not help but wonder –

Why had they never done this before?

Although Melkor could not see it in the lieutenant’s unearthly features, he could hear him smile. His thrusts increased in speed until they reached a punishing, almost violent rhythm, arousing in its danger. Mairon grasped that string of thought, and while his hips still continued rolling, his hand moved to grasp Melkor’s cock, beginning to stroke it in tune with his thrusts. Melkor’s gasping breath was cut short as Mairon’s other hand landed on his throat and _squeezed,_ the heat of his fingers burning hot lines across Melkor’s skin.

Melkor was overcome by the sensations. The unrelenting thrusts of Mairon’s hips, the strokes of his cock and the gasping breathlessness as Mairon choked him. The blackness in the edges of his vision and the white stars dancing amidst the shadows, exploding into light with every brush against Melkor’s prostate. All of those coalesced into one, a burning pressure in his groin as he came apart in his lieutenant’s hands. His orgasm hit him like a wave, pulling him under and pitching him into blackness as his lungs finally ran out of breath.

He was faintly aware of the warm, flooding sensation in between his legs, the receding heat of Mairon pulling out. For a moment he simply floated in darkness, in a blissful nothingness, until he was abruptly dragged back into the white reality that was his room in the Halls of Mandos.

“Mairon”, Melkor croaked. Mairon was there, next to him, his ghostly fingers lightly caressing Melkor’s face.

“Melkor”, Mairon answered, speaking the name like a prayer. “My lord.”

Melkor was still coming down from his high. He understood he had blacked out, something that had never happened before. That was obvious – few beings in all of Arda had the strength to bend him to their will.

Melkor had never seen it before, but he saw it now. His lieutenant was not only skilled – he was _powerful,_ with will and strength that not even Melkor could truly claim as his own.

Mairon was his, but he was also _Mairon’s._

This one he could not afford to lose.

He refused to do so.

“Lieutenant”, Melkor continued, still catching his breath. “That was… exquisite.”

Mairon hummed in contentment. “I am pleased to have pleased you, my lord. In fact, humility suits you.”

Melkor’s eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean with that?”

“Perhaps you should use it… to your advantage. Show your humility to the Valar.”

Melkor scoffed. “What should I do? Prostrate myself to them like a dog at their heels?”

“Yes, if that is what it takes.”

Melkor shook his head. “No. You are wrong. Begging is not in my nature.”

“I can teach you”, Mairon offered, his ghostly fingers caressing Melkor’s chin. “I can make you beg.”

Although the offer was blasphemous in itself – Melkor did not beg, he was a _god –_ Mairon’s tone made him shudder.

It made Melkor _want_ to submit.

“I will…” he gasped as he felt his arousal return, “consider it.”

Mairon’s form flickered with excitement. “Excellent.”

Melkor closed his eyes and sighed. For the first time in a long time he felt content. Peaceful, even. As if he was not in the Halls at all but side by side with his lieutenant, where he belonged.

But as he reached out to touch Mairon he simply grasped empty air again. His lieutenant’s bright form was beginning to fade, now looking as translucent and pallid as water. They were both losing strength, and could not keep up for much longer.

The bleakness of reality weighed upon Melkor’s shoulders, and suddenly Mairon’s proposition did not seem as unspeakable at all.

“You must leave again”, Melkor understood.

“Yes”, Mairon agreed. “But our parting will not last forever. I await your return, master.”

His form flickered once more, then fading into motes of dust dancing in a sunbeam.

And just before the string between them snapped Melkor whispered him a promise:

“We will see each other soon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed their Skype session as much as I did writing this. If you liked, I would love a kudos or comment. ♥
> 
> You can also find me on [tumblr](https://melkrows.tumblr.com/)!

**Author's Note:**

> The working title for this was "send nudes Melkor." (¬‿¬)
> 
> Thanks for reading! The next part is going to focus on the connection from Melkor's POV. Perhaps the mystery of the nature of this connection will finally be revealed ;)


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